The Life and Lies of Beck Oliver
by The Writer From The Mist
Summary: During all his life, Beckett Edward Oliver has grown knowing he was crap and that nobody really gave a damn about him. He knows he inspires pity and sorrow in others, and after a failed attempt at his own life, memories begin to flood him as he thinks back to his past life. But nobody knows who will happen, and in the end, it's Beck's decision. This is his life... and all the lies


**Hey guys! Yeah, I am publishing a new story, but here's the warning. Updates might be once a month due to my schedule, and I really do have to keep up with my other main fanfics and personal novels. I'm sorry if any of you think it's a bit slow, I really am, but I do hope you enjoy this- this is rated M purely because of coarse language and some touchy dark subjects. There's a reason behind this fanfic, and maybe at the end of the story I can then tell you guys. THANKS TO ALL MY BEAUTIFUL READERS- YOUR REVIEWS, FOLLOWS AND FAVOURITES LIGHTEN UP MY DAY!**

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_Dedicatory:_

_So, I promised this in Victorious 3, so here goes. Amber Norman. Okay, billionth time literally, that I have brought her up in this, but I do want to stress that she deserves this. In the past couple of months this girl who had nothing to do with me became my best friend and protegee. She is now something akin to a baby sister, and she will be leaving Spain soon in mid-July, and I am going to miss her as hell. A beautiful girl whose smile has brought so much joy to the SoundLab and Drama family, and I know that she will soon become a star. Because if something so beautiful and so close to perfection can make crap like me so happy, she deserves the world and beyond._

_And for that, Princess, you have this chapter to yourself, but overall, this fanfic, is for you. Thanks for everything- and I do mean EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING, you goddamn perfect little angel!_

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**The Life and Lies of Beck Oliver**

**I**

**The Other Face**

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He stands there, on the edge of the terrace, a slight breeze forcing its way against his fragile skin. His eyes have forgotten the tears, but are still somewhat watery- his wet cheeks forgotten, not caring to even wipe the still trembling tears clinging onto him. He feels slightly cold, but he doesn't really care about freezing right now... or ever again. Who would anyway, had they been in his position?

He feels a weird pit right in his stomach- the same feeling he got when he knew he was doing something wrong, or when he was really nervous or excited. Maybe those three emotions were intermingled between each other under a heap of other emotions which raged in a incessant battle both in his heart and mind.

Clouds. It's fascinating how right now, at this precise instant he's staring into space and appreciating how peaceful and pure the world is, as he stares and wonders over the curious little patterns of clouds fly past him in the crimson-orangey sky. He looks closely, and sees how most house windows have the lights on, and silhouettes of people cross by every now and then.

In the distance, he can see other houses, and buildings shine in the evening sky, as the sun set down for his daily slumber, leaving his job as ruler of the sky, to his counterpart the moon. How weird was it to actually see things how they were when he had been living so long with them? Now, it was although time itself had stopped moving, and he was the only thing that was mobile.

He took a step up, so that he had his feet already wavering into the emptiness of air, and nothing down but a fall of hundreds of feet. He took it back, wondering how it would be better for him to do it. Maybe doing it looking the other way round would be more useful...

Yes, he was going to do it. He was going to kill himself, finally. Tonight was the night. He spread his arms wide, as if he were about to fly, and plunged himself forwards, feeling his body fall from steady ground and just revel in wind, the air cutting past him as he saw the ground coming nearer and nearer...

He immediately opened his eyes, realizing he was still on the terrace. He had not jumped still. He was still lingering with his foot outstretched over the edge. Suddenly, all sense seemed to return in full force. He could feel the silent tears on his cheeks now, not realizing they had restarted their escape from his eyes once more. He sniffed, trying to clear his nostrils, and take a full breath of the fresh air.

Thinking about it just made it ten times more difficult to accomplish. He kept reminding himself that it was for the best, shutting away all those reassurances from people that it would not. This would solve it. It would solve it all. Yes, why wait another second, it was just leaning a bit more and it would be done. Dead simple. Dead... Death waved at him from the ground below, and he took another lungful of fresh air.

He opened his puffy eyes wide. They were red and sore from the tears, and his lashes were stuck together, making them appear darker, and making his eyes look bigger. He ran a hand through his long hair, lose his brown eyes once more, and ignored any other sensation (attempting numbness), just feeling himself fall.

He collapsed onto the terrace floor. As he attempted to stand up, he began to smash his balled left fist onto the marble floor, a groan escaping his lips, making the tiniest noise after hours of silence. He crawled to the side of the wall, hugging his knees, trembling slightly as he inhaled and exhaled with difficulty. Astonishingly, he had failed again.

Abruptly, he stood up, grabbing locks of his hair as he paced up and down the terrace in frustration, yelling at the top of his lungs in desperation. Agian and again had this happened to him. Not caring if people heard him, he kept screaming and groaning, and moaning as he kept pacing up and down, whilst pulling his hair and clawing at his face. He was the worst.

_Disgusting filth._

Those words echoed in his mind, the words as chilling as a gunshot in the middle of a dark night. He rapidly fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands, as tears streamed down his face. Everything that anybody had ever said about him was undeniable now. He could not deny it anymore: he was weak, he was shit, he was just not good enough or strong enough to even face the reality; to end it all and free everybody.

How could he be so despicable? Unsurprisingly, he began to hear all those voices again. People he knew, people he remembered. He could hear what they said, what they saw in him, the real him. The fucking shit that was him, Beckett Edward Oliver. Every single compliment that he suspected was just fake flattery or sarcasm seemed so true to him now- he tried to shield himself behind the truth, but it gnawed through the glass, smacking right into his face.

In the dark corner, he attempted to obscure his body, as he hugged his knees to his chest, angry tears leaking out of his eyes. His sobs had been silent until now, as every breath he took shook his body. He imagined what a pitiful sight he must be if someone where to suddenly come up to the terrace- a teen weeping for no apparent reason.

Getting on his knees, he began to hit the wall behind him with as much strength as he could muster, feeling anger and depression bubble up through his organs like bile. Usually, the pain of self-harming himself would be enough to disguise the agony within him, but even as the blood flowed from his bruised knuckles, he couldn't impede the sobs still coming fresh and quick.

He licked the red fluid away- a handy trick he had learnt some time ago as to hastily cover up any blood- trying to calm down as he stopped and relaxed his bleeding hands, he wiped away the tears, and inhaled in between choking breaths. Fortunately, there was nobody to witness this breakdown. It was really quite sad to watch.

His chestnut eyes searched the sky, his eyeballs reflecting the semi-hidden moon in the sky, having changed drastically from the golden red to a deep blue. Time had flown by, and as he stood up, all negativity returned with reinforcements. He was a fool. A weak, pitiful, disgusting, good-for-nothing fool who could not even face doing the right thing.

He leaned again on the edge, watching the ground below, and imagined how his body could be down there right now, a puddle of blood surrounding him as the world rejoiced the loss of something like him. But instead, he was up there groaning at his cowardice… and yet nobody would know. He would keep the secret to himself, and everybody was sure to believe the story that he had still been with his best friend for a walk.

Nobody would know that tonight had been the night Beck Oliver had almost committed suicide. An intense hatred towards himself flared up like fire inside of him as he kept hitting himself at how stupid he was being. This wasn't just because he wanted to give everyone a huge favour: the favour was one of the prime movers but it wasn't the whole story.

He was tired. He was sick and tired of the lies, of the false promises and hopes in a doomed future he knew would never come. He knew about the whispering behind hands, and the many rumours that rushed like wildfire everywhere he went. He recognised the fake miles and the friendships formed out of pity for him. Beck had long forgotten about the hope of finding something real.

He knew he was a burden to everyone, and he could not blame anybody for it. His friends… they were the things that he loved the most and they kept him going, but he knew he was just something to bring them down. He only caused pain, suffering and sadness, and making them happy was the only thing he wanted. But to fulfil the thing he wanted to do the most, he had to die.

The laughs and smiles that for him had been genuine, he knew that they were under the delusion that they were friends, but he knew that deep down they were only there because they would feel guilty and they saw how pitiful and lonely he actually was. Why keep on dragging them down, when all he wanted was them to be able to go up? He should just leave and disappear from their lives. They would be so joyful.

To hate him was natural, and he knew it very well. Even if he couldn't understand it. To care for himself was now not even in his interest. Since he could remember, he had only wanted to make everyone happy, and his friends were his priority. He had learned long ago that a place called home was not where his family was, but not even there could he find a shred of evidence that he was wanted. He was trained to detect the lies and they were everywhere and persistent.

He couldn't bear it anymore… and yet he still hadn't done it. Why? He wasn't afraid of dying. Most people were- even old people who claim to crave their end- they were all afraid of dying. Beck had always been a believer, but even now he still wondered if there really was something such as heaven, a place filled with happiness and love where nothing went wrong and people lived forever. He wondered if he would.

He wondered if he even had a living soul left in him, because it seemed as though it had died. Maybe he didn't have a soul, and once he died, there would be no heaven for him, just non-existence. That would make people happy. Maybe even God. He was a firm believer that God existed, but he deemed to the conclusion that God had probably fallen asleep on the driving wheel.

Nothing had happened yet, and he knew prayers could only take him so far… but he wasn't doing anything. With a heavy heart, and still wiping his salty tears, Beck behaved his body up and began walking back home. Once he got lout of the building, he glanced back to the terrace, knowing that this was not their last encounter.

As he waited the red lights to switch to their former green, he laid eyes on the window of a nearby shop. His full reflection stared back, confused. Noting there was nobody else on the street, he came closer to the shop, and looked at himself. Making an effort, he pulled his lips back, straining as he attempted a small smile. Failing to look somewhat cheerful, he dipped the left side of his lips, and once again, gave his usual crooked half-smile that was customary to him, and much easier to fake.

His eyes remained emotionless; Beck could not bring them to shine with happiness- that was an order to high to take- and the only thing that he could do to betray his feelings was put on that smile that simultaneously created that particular mask that he hid behind. Slightly open nostrils, the half-smile carved onto his flesh and the open eyes.

He looked up, letting the wind dry his eyes, fearing that allowing them to water would result in prohibited tears which he most definitely did not want to reveal. It was as though he was sticking a mask made of skin onto his face. He did not really smile genuinely very often, but he always tried to wear the tolerant, happy mask as realistically as possible.

He did not know if he really fooled everybody, and sometimes he would catch sceptic glances from people but both of them would keep their thoughts to themselves. Thankfully, there was nobody (neither stranger nor friend) so he could drop the act, and just remember to put the mask on later. Yes, his other face. His fake face. The other face of Beck Oliver.

He could almost laugh at the irony of it all. But to laugh now… He attempted too, just in case he needed to fake a few giggles or anything later on. He tried to, but the sound vibrating from his mouth sounded soggy and so very sad. It sounded as if he had asthma. He attempted maybe a giggle, but it looked more like a picture taken from a horror movie. He gave up soon after.

Taking tiny strides he walked across the road, ignoring the incoming horns, and the yells and insults shot at him from his right. He did not mind as he felt the whoosh of air as the cars and buses rushed passed him, full speed ahead. Beck stopped for a minute, flinching at the thought that he could have stopped right there and let a car do the job for him.

He was scared. He might have felt that it was the right thing, but he could not do it- not yet at least- yet he kept punching himself for not doing so. It felt like the world wanted him to do so, but it kept preventing from doing it, and it was a whirlwind of contradictions.

When it came time for people to draw the path of their lives, Beck was sure that most people just had wonky lines, but him seemed to be just going in circles hundreds of times, not moving either up or down. What was the point of living if nobody wanted him around (they couldn't fool him) and he was not going either up or down?

He checked his phone, finding hundreds of messages. On the contrary to what he normally would do, he chose to ignore them, dropping his phone back into his pocket, sighing. He was not really up to answering

anybody right now, and if he did, his friends were sure to know something was up. His friends had the annoying trait of being able to sense part of his negativity when he wrote messages- something that still kept baffling him. But there was no time to be baffled, and he rushed ahead.

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_**-The Life And Lies of Beck Oliver-**_

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"No,"

He dropped the knife on the floor, and for once, the blade was not stained with the usual murky red blood that would flow slowly from his cuts (strategically placed in parts of his body that would be inappropriate to touch or look at for too long, or much at all if nude). He had stopped it for the first time in so many years, and controlled the urge.

That was extremely weird for him. To be able to control himself just at the very last second was something so difficult to accomplish he had never given it much thought as the years had passed. Hell, he probably had never even touched the subject since he was a child. Licking his lips, dry in shock, he picked the knife up, and hid it away, before sitting down on the floor, leaning against the wall.

He sometimes preferred darkness over light, being able to hide and protect himself easily from others, but sometimes it worked as a disadvantage, and he was so sick and tired. Closing his eyes again, he tried to disconnect from the world again, and just let himself wander freely through a blank mind; just floating in space with no disturbance.

_What's the big deal?_

Beck started. He knocked his head in the process, and as he rubbed the hit spot, his eyes darted everywhere, hoping somebody had said those words, and it was not his stupid mind reminiscing stuff for him. Definitely the final straw... _What's the big deal?_... he could remember those exact words... and it brought him back to the time, to the past, all those years ago...

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_**-The Life And Lies of Beck Oliver-**_

* * *

He was walking slowly, ever so slowly, pacing the floor with sloth-speed motions, hoping it would postpone the dreaded moment of returning home. He felt so small and insignificant, surrounded by so many giants- and all of them were surprisingly smiling. Huge grins pasted onto faces which only reflected happiness and exhilarated laughter.

That was something to think about. He knew he was barely six, but even realising there were things beyond his understanding, he could not really imagine why all these people were so cheerful going home. He had really had the time of his life in the school, and he did not really anticipate with any sort of glee going back home- it literally sent ice-cubes down his spine.

He continued following the rest of the kids and the teacher as they kept themselves in a line as to not get lost and arrive safely into the buses. He tried hiding the scowl, but as he saw his reflection on a window, he gave up, and let the pout appear on his lips, puffing his chubby cheeks. He did not want to go home, he wanted to stay here!

Suddenly, they stopped, and whilst a couple of children got onto the bus, he crossed his arms, and tried to take in his surroundings once more. Having had to spy around his house many times just to know what was coming had become second nature to him, and he liked to open up all senses- it relaxed him profoundly to do so.

Leaning against the wall were two sixth formers which he did not recognize. They were whispering whilst glaring at each other intently- almost as if revolving into some sort of secret. Taking advantage of the teacher helping one of the children who had fallen down, he stepped a bit closer, and leaned slightly to a side innocently without capturing their attention.

Brushing his ear lightly, he opened it up, quickly trying to decipher the rapid mutters coming from the two teens that towered over him. He was still acting all innocent and nobody seemed to notice him eavesdropping. The boy was holding his grip on the girl who was wearing long sleeves (weird considering it was a fairly hot day).

"Could you just shut your damn mouth for once! Jesus, I think you sometimes forget you're just my friend, not my father!" hissed the girl, apparently struggling to free herself from the boy's grip.

"Yeah, but still, I'm worried- no, that's an understatement, I'm scared!" he hissed back. "Please stop this! Do it for me will you?"

"Look, it's my business, and look at it this way: just a metal blade that I use to cut myself to relive myself. Is it that bad? Leave me alone alright?!" the girl finally freed herself and rushed away, as the boy raced after her, obviously furious.

Beck's stomach was churning in pure shock. Cut? _Cut_? Like, take a knife and literally just make yourself bleed? He had never heard of anyone doing that before, but what interested him the most was what they had said about it. The girls had said it helped relieve stress, so why was the boy so upset? Why would he be angry because she was happy?

Okay, it was kind of creepy to do something like that, but there was something alluring about it... maybe it would help? He wasn't really sure, and he knew that sometimes when people hurt themselves they made a big deal of not letting any blood be lost, but...

He was disturbed when someone bumped into him. Rushing to catch up with the rest of his remaining classmates, Beck could not help but let the imagery of a blunt kitchen knife penetrate his mind, looming intently over him- an additional weight to his worries.

He was nearing the bus now, and as much as he loathed the idea of doing so, he knew he had to get back home. With a final glance and nod to the orange set of buildings topped off with brown roofs, he bid farewell to an enjoyable first day, and greeted his ugly afternoon instead.

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_**-The Life And Lies of Beck Oliver-**_

* * *

Beck looked up, and scurried to open the blinds on the window. Night had quickly fallen once again, and he did not entirely regret spending the whole afternoon cooped inside the RV. Stealing a quick look to a side, he saw unsurprisingly the lights were still off, which meant they were still out or had already gone to bed- something unlikely, but anyhow...

Looking back inside the RV, all was a complete mess, but he was not really in the mood to clean up, especially since tomorrow he had class and he was most certainly not looking forward to waking up early after the past days' events. At least he would be able to see his... At least he would not have to be near his ex-home.

Fuck this. He did not want to think about anything for the rest of the night. He lay down in bed, rubbing his face exasperatedly, brushing his hair aside. Looking up, the only thing he could see was the ceiling of the vehicle/home; perfect as to not think of anything normally, but tonight, things seemed to want to play tricks on him wherever he looked.

The small patterns on the wood which normally never caught his attention now seemed to liken the traits of knives and daggers. He grabbed the pillow and let it fall slowly on top of his face, but even this way he could not fall deep into slumber. Sitting up, he gave up trying to fool himself, when he knew very well sleep was not something he was comfortable with.

Even as he grew up, Beck still hated and feared sleeping, yet somehow also liked and enjoyed it. During his sleep, nothing from the outside world could really trouble him; it was almost like putting up a shield against all the horridness that went on in reality, and he could just shun them away with the flick of a finger- or more of a snooze.

On the other hand... the thought of it still made him shudder. The nightmares, always never-ending in his quest for peaceful sleep, haunting him forever, and right then and there, the next day he had to simply smile (or try not to look murderous) and act as normally as possible and not as though he was close to bursting like a giant bubble of gas at any moment.

He fell back onto the covers, and rolled to one side- not wanting to sleep, but hoping he could go through the night without a single damn dream.

On one side of the bed, stood a tall, lean mirror. Amidst the impeding darkness, he could perfectly see his tired face reflected on the slim glass material. Attempting to smile again, his face immediately drooped, as he thought back to going to school tomorrow.

Only a few people realised who he really was- precious few people, and he knew that tomorrow morning, as soon as he stepped onto school boundaries, he was going to have to hide. Hide again behind that mask so difficult to see through.

The other face. One of the first lies of Beck Oliver

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**So there you have it, guys! Sorry if it is terribly dull and depressing, but this is just chapter one, and I know some of you will hate me for portraying Beck so depressingly, but please hold on! And I also want to mention a few things:**

**1. Almost every member in Victorious will appear but their character and relationships might be different than in the show**

**2. Just want to point out that I do NOT own Victorious, nor the characters but all OC are my property.**

**3. Reviews are like a gift of heaven, but if you do want to say anything that others might deem offensive or insulting, please send a PM instead. I don't mind negative reviews, since I know very well this is far from being perfect.**

**So thanks a million my dear fanfictioners! See you in August with chapter two, and while you're at it, you can read my other set of fanfics Victorious 2 and 3 (2 was a bit crappy if compared to 3, but they are part of a trilogy!). Love you all, and keep reading!**


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